


The Fields Beneath the Tattered Banners

by avgust



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Last Alliance of Elves and Men, No Romance, POV First Person, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avgust/pseuds/avgust
Summary: A short snippet on Thranduil's perspective regarding the death of Oropher at Dagorlad during the Battle of the Last Alliance.





	

He is still here. I know this because I can still sense him, even though with my eyes I do not see him. Around me I see the utter destruction of horror and chaos instead of my native trees and fields of grass so tall and green under the northern sun. Instead of the gentle running of the mighty rivers, I hear the clashing of metal and screams of utter turmoil, and for a moment, I cannot help but shudder as I forget the truth that I had believed so passionately within this war.

He is moving farther away from me, as I have to strain my hearing to catch maybe just a hint of his voice commanding the troops. But within the sounds that I pray will not haunt my memories, his well-known voice is not to be heard. It is just as well, I think as I cut down yet another of my foes. I would hate to confuse within my nightmares, the hellish sounds that I have heard for weeks, with that of his melodic voice.

I see the rise of smoke above the blood and gore of my allies and of my enemies. It is a cruel irony, which unites the opposing sides within their death sleep, undistinguishable where they fall within their entwined interlace of arms, legs, torsos, and heads. I scan their cold, grey faces with the fear that soon I will find him amongst their ranks, and I cannot help but sigh in relief when I see that he is not yet accounted with the dead. 

I turn my head as a flash of metal barely misses my arm and I must dodge, falling back onto the sea of bodies and blood. I am shaken as I try not to think of what may have been, or what may still be as I turn my weary eyes from the waste around me. Above me, on the fields, are the tattered banners and standards of the armies that are united in this struggle. Their shredded fabric blows within the wind above this once glorious field. I imagine these fields, as they must have been before this war; serene and expansive with tall grasses that rolled as a great emerald wave in the breezes that flowed across these lands. Now, these fields lay forever scarred with the wounds and tears of the desperate souls who stand divided beneath the scorched sky of fire and smoke.

I must rise, I know. The morale of those around me demands my complete confidence and determination. I cannot break nor show my wavering of faith, so once again I adopt my steadfast persona of a brave leader, which I know they expect of me. I turn my mind away from my own fears as I try to capture the mindset that I know he has and would want me to have: his valour, his might, and his bravery. If only I were half the person that he is, but I can never be him. 

My arms are strained under the constant motions of swings and blocks I make, and it is only with will of mind that I try to make my way to where I think he is. But in this sea of bodies all turned against me, I am lucky to move four strides before I must stop. I will never reach his side; I dodge as my thoughts shatter with the stinging reverberations of my block that echo the piercing clash of our swords. Desperately I swing my sword away from that orcish blade as I take the offensive and slice my blade into its side. The ensuing roar is dead to my ears as that creature falls before my feet. No longer do I note to mind how many of the enemy I have slain by my sword, even though I had planned on giving him that number in hopes of seeing the pride that would shine through his eyes.

He is pressing on, even though I have barely moved forward. The oppressive, unrelenting hordes that rush at my unit have cut us off from his. I pause as I try my hardest to make out his silhouette against the backdrop of bodies, so black in their great wave flooding the green of the field. I still do not see him, but I do not lose heart. If he were in danger surely I would know, for the bond we share is strong. A shout of warning, and I have barely missed a mortal wound. The warm thick liquid that trickles down my temple forces me to keep my thoughts on the issue at hand, as I again raise my sword.

With every swing of my blade I am forced to keep my mind blank. I am so tired and weary but knowing that he is still here fighting keeps me going, even though I do not see nor hear him. It is his strength, which I draw from as I stare down the enemy before me, and look out back where my slain brethren and foe lay in their death sleep. Through the bodies and walls of sound a clear blue sky can be seen beyond this immediate hell where I am trapped. It is with that sight that I can manage a smile before I let my eyes fall back on the duty at hand.

It has been a long day, and the red sky that breaks through the dark black clouds signifies that night will be descending on us soon. A long night will ensue in which we will all sit alone in our silent contemplation over the events and outcomes none of us can control. My unit is weary and anticipates the reinforcements that will be relieving us of this seemingly never ceasing struggle. With this in mind, I continue my meaningless swings at foes that are ever the same in their duplicate mockery of my kin. 

A flashback of memories from the pre-war councils reminds me that this war will last for years. I was scarred then with the anticipations of joining the men to arms, although I had no idea of what real fear was at that time. Now I have seen and tasted real fear. And as these weeks have passed, I can feel my heart becoming disillusioned, and apathetic to this surreal world around me. 

I had followed him here to this war. He did not want me to go, but how could he resist my enthusiasm to join him in this alliance? My youthful romantic fantasies had driven me to volunteer, as I had so ardently wished to fight by his side, play may part in this historical event and make a difference. But, he had deterred me from fighting in his ranks, so through these first few weeks, we have fought apart. Through all of these weeks my half-divided mind focuses on him as I have this strange foreboding feeling that I cannot seem to shake from my mind. But then again, he is a mighty warrior, far better then I could ever be. 

I hear the shouts from my brethren in arms as more troops join our ranks. I cannot help but sigh, as I know that rest will soon find me. I give my command that our day is over as the relieving officer stands at my side. He nods, as if he is glad to see that I have survived this day and I return the gesture, as if to say that I will see him in the morrow. What I do not understand is why his eyes look so sad as I walk away. We make our way back to the camp, far beyond these fields of death and battered banners. 

I enter the camp and all I can see are more mournful eyes that greet me. What tragedy has occurred which would make their eyes look that way? I am surrounded, and they take my sword, bidding me to follow as they lead. Slowly I begin to panic as I see they are leading me to his tent, where their heads are all bowed under the weight of their tears. They are speaking to me, but I have lost the ability to comprehend and hear their words. I try not to think, just react, as they fold back the door to the tent and usher me in. 

I cannot see, as I blink my eyes to adjust to the darkness that fills the tent. Slowly the candlelight strengthens and I see him lying on his cot covered in sheets stained in ominous red patches. I do not react as I walk forward, although I know now that he is dead. They pull back the sheets to reveal to me the knowledge I have already learned. I fall to my knees before him, as I have done countless times before. But he does not respond, nor do I expect him to as I lift his cold hand into mine. 

They expect me to say something, but what words does one speak in times like this? What eulogy do I make to someone who was great in life, but is now in death? I can only keep my eyes on the stars and the moon in the sky, which twinkle their condolences and spill their tears in the forms of beams. Perhaps it is not him for whom they cry, as so many were killed this day. But for me, I only think of his soul as I say my prayer to the dead. 

The new day comes as the sun rises. I have sat in silence beneath the stars, and now that the new day is here, the realization of my situation makes itself known to me. As much as I wish to mourn and reflect, the people require a strong unwavering leader, so I must rise and lead them. I want to scream and cry, as I am not ready for this responsibility, but if it is not I who leads them, who will? My father has died, leaving me alone to this war without any answers. What now am I to say to keep them going, when I have completely lost faith? 

Yes, this is a new day in which I must raise the staff and sword of my fallen father. My troops are await me, mournful but determined to serve in his memory. They are ready to prove themselves to me, their new king, just as I must prove myself to them, and myself. I cannot shed my bitter tears, as I must fight this battle without him.

/end


End file.
